Angels Deserve To Die
by Rattlesnake Smile
Summary: Fusion Fic. Buffy the Vampire Slayer meets the World of murder and assassins via Kill Bill. Meet the scarier version of the world's deadliest assassins.
1. prologue

**Title**: Angels Deserve to Die

**Rating**: M for Mature

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Buffy/Angel, Willow, Xander, Dawn, Spike, Faith, everyone (pretty much every Buffy character of any importance will make some sort of appearance)

**Genre**: Action/Adventure, Drama

**Warning**: Character Deaths aplenty, and lots of blood and gore.

**Disclaimer**: everything belongs either to the brilliance of Joss Whedon, or the macabre sense of humor of Quentin Tarantino

**Author Notes**: I've neglected this story for far too long, so I'm starting from scratch by doing a complete rewrite

**Summary**: The same story line as Kill Bill. Buffy is the Bride, who is put into a coma by Angel and his crew. A few years down the line she wakes up and goes on a bloody killing spree to get revenge.

* * *

**ANGELS DESERVE TO DIE**

**Prologue**

The scent of blood and gore was heavy on the air. The bodies lay butchered among the shattered pews of the chapel, pools of blood creating small lakes in the low spots. Over the occasional thrust of a sword or burst of bullets to end the lives of the survivors, the sounds of ragged breathing could be heard. The souce of the short gasps was the bride, all decked out in her white gown, now torn and splattered with blood, her once carefully applied make-up now smudged and overshadowed by cuts and bruises. Her veil was tangled up in bloody, golden hair. As she struggled to breath, the sound of heavy footsteps was heard. With a split second break in her gasping, the Bride began to struggle a little bit, trying to get up.

A chuckle sounded. The chuckle that only men have in regards to women.

Sighting down her body, she saw a pair of nicely polished black loafers approaching, attactched to a pair of nice long legs encased in black slacks. The shoes stepped over an arm that was lying about three feet from the former owner, before skirting around a puddle of blood. The man stopped before a broken pew that was lying across his path, reached down with one hand and tossed it aside like it was nothing. The Bride tried to drag herself but stopped with a pained gasp as she pulled her broken body.

The man chuckled again as he stepped closer, one hand in the pocket of his pants while the other unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a perfectly white shirt buttoned up beneath it. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a smooth expance of tanned skin. When she gave up on the idea of escaping, she devoted all of her energy into trying to glare the man to death.

The man with the angelic face chuckled once again, his brown eyes alight with humor.

"I bet I could fry an egg on your face right now." he said in a smooth bariotone, his voice the slightest bit rusty, as if he didn't use it often. He crouched down by her side, pulling out a monogramed kerchief from his pocket. With slow, smooth strokes, he began to clean the blood from her face while he continued to talk. "Don't look at me like that." He cajoled her. "You know I don't hate you. Or anyone for that matter." He folded the kerchief and wiped a trail clean from her temple to her cheek. "You know I gave up on hate a long time ago." Once her face was relatively free of blood he folded up the kerchief and placed it in his breast pocket. He reached his hand out again and let his fingertips ghost over her bruises before circling her lips, gathering up the last of her blood. Gazing into her green eyes with his brown, he brought his finger to his lips and sucked clean the blood.

"Mmm." he said, letting his eyes drift close as he savored the taste. "Slayer blood." His eyes opened. "Nothing like it." His tongue peeked out and licked his lips as he returned his gaze to her face, meeting her silent glare. "Really, the silent treatment." He shook his head in mirth. "I know that you think I'm sadistic... which I am, of course. I'm probably the biggest mass murderer you've ever encountered and I killed each on with a song in my heart. But not towards you. Never towards you." He said in a near whisper, reaching his hand out and stroked the side of her face, brushing her blood soaked hair behind her ear. Looking her in the eyes once more, the humor drained from his face and he stood, rebuttoning his jacket in the process. He held out his right hand and a young woman around the Bride's age stepped forward, her long dark tresses falling freely around her face. With a smile in place on her pouted lips, she held out a large revolver, which he took without a second glance.

"No, lover." he said, pulling back the hammer on the revolver dramatically. "This is me at my most masochistic."

"Angel." the Bride managed to choke out, coughing up some blood in the process. "It's you bab-"

The gunshot sounded loudly in the small chapel and a burst of blood and bone exloded from the side of the Bride's head, her eyes instantly closing.

* * *

"_Looked dead, didn't I? Well I wasn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying, I can tell you that. Actually, Angel's last bullet put me in a coma. A coma I was to lie in for five years. When I woke up… (laugh) well, lets just say I was pissed. I went on what the movie advertisements refer to as a Roaring Rampage of Revenge. Oh, I roared, and I rampaged, and I got bloody satisfaction. I killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point, some of them once considered among my closest friends, but I killed them. There's just one more. The last one. The only one left. The one I'm driving to right now. And when I arrive at my destination, I'm going to kill him. Because whatever your religious beliefs, this Angel deserves to die"_

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Reviews are my crack. Please supply me.


	2. 2

**Title**: Angels Deserve to Die

**Rating**: M for Mature

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Buffy, Cordelia, Jasmine, mentions of Groosalug, mentions of Harmony

**Genre**: Action/Adventure, Drama

**Warning**: Character Deaths aplenty, and lots of blood and gore.

**Disclaimer**: everything belongs either to the brilliance of Joss Whedon, or the macabre sense of humor of Quentin Tarantino

**Author Notes**: Okay, so I'm following the basic script of Kill Bill, so the Bride's name won't be revealed until one of the last chapters, even though we all know it's Buffy.

**Chapter Summary**: The Bride arrives at the home of #2 of her Death List Five.

* * *

**ANGELS DESERVE TO DIE**

**Chapter One: "2"**

Sunnydale, California

The truck pulled to a jerking stop on the shady, residential street, the young blond woman looking out the passenger window and up the lawn toward the nice, two story, suburban house. Her mouth set in a tight line, the woman who was once the Bride, turned off the engine of the truck and opened the driver's side door, climbing out and walking around the back before making her way up the lawn, completely ignoring the path, kicking over a child's tricycle. She reached the front door, her blond hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and reached out a leather clad arm to knock briskly on the door. She glanced behind her to see if anyone had noticed her when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

"I'm coming." a female voice called from inside. "Harmony, you're almost an hour early." The woman continued as she pulled open the front door. She froze the moment she saw the Bride, who just glared at her. In the split second it took for the woman to register who stood before her, the Bride lunged forward, her fist connecting with the woman's face, sending her flying back into the living room. The woman recovered quickly, her short, dark brown curls bouncing around her now determined face as she took a fighting stance and blocked the next blow of the Bride's sudden onslaught. Powerful blows were exchanged, with the dark haired woman being on the losing side of the fight so far, being far weaker than an actual Slayer.

A sudden kick sent her flying back into a small end table, which shattered under her weight. Recovering quickly, the woman grabbed one of the broken table legs and swiped out, striking the Bride in the knee. Frozen in pain for the briefest of seconds, the Bride straightened, only to lean far back to avoid the club of wood being swung toward her head. With her superior reflexes, the Bride grabbed and twisted her target's wrist, causing her to drop the club. Continuing with her advantage, the Bride twirled in a circle, bringing the woman with her and using their combined momentum and her greater strength to throw her into the next room where she crashed painfully onto a metal and glass coffee table.

Groaning from the fall, the woman struggled to regain her senses, which proved useless as the Bride landed on her back. Using their current position to her advantage, the Bride wrapped her arms around the struggling woman and effectively began to stop her air supply. The woman struggled harder, clawing at the woman's face futily as the Bride choked her from behind. As her vision began to blacken around the edges, the woman reached out and around blindly until her hand came in contact with the handle of the fireplace poker. Acting swiftly, she wrenched it free from the toppled rack and swung it backward, hitting the Bride on the back.

Grunting in pain, the Bride loosened her grip slighty, just enough for the woman to slam her head backward. White starburst flashed behind her eyes as blood burst from her nose at the impact. Momentarily stunned, she offered no resistance as the woman gained her feet and kicked her in the chest, sending her crashing to the glass strewn carpet. The moment she started to rise into a sitting position, she received a fire poker across her face. Blinded this time by blood, as well as pain she lay there, stunned until her instincts kicked in, allowing her to roll to the side to avoid a potentially fatal blow that landed among the shattered remains of the coffee table. Recovering quickly, the Bride kicked the poker from the woman's hands before using her other foot to send her flying backward into the heavy bookcase that sat against the far wall. As the Bride struggled to her feet, the woman grabbed the edge of the bookcase and toppled the whole thing over. Right onto the Bride.

Struggling out from under the heavy wooden case, she just barely caught a glimpse of her target fleeing around the corner and further into the house. Tossing the heavy shelf aside like it was nothing, the Bride regained her feet and was in pursuit. She didn't see the woman in the short hallway, but there were no exits except for the open doorway at the end, so that's the way she dashed. She had just cleared the frame of the archway when she leaned back, narrowly avoiding the butcher knife the sliced at her neck. Twirling to saftey to avoid another strike, she reached out and grabbed the first thing she could: a spatula. Weilding it as a weapon, the Bride parried each of the woman's blows with the knife until a lucky slash opened the back of her hand and caused her to drop the utensil.

Not letting up in her attack, the woman forced the Bride back against the wall and brought the knife down, only to be stopped by her opponents hand to her wrist. The woman's other hand lashed out and her fingers wrapped around the Bride's throat.

"What are you gonna use to attack me now?" the woman asked, lifting the Bride up somewhat and letting her feet kick wildly as her air supply ran out. "You're charm and quick wit?"

"Knerf." the Bride managed to squeeze out, earning a confused scowl.

"Knerf?" the woman repeated, still trying to force the knife into her opponent. "What the hell's a knerf?"

In response, the Bride realeased the arm holding her by the throat and reached behind her, quickly drawing a dagger and swiping it at the woman, who backed off to avoid a vicious cut. Spinning in a whirl of dark curls, the woman blocked the second swip of the 'knerf' and landed a kick to the Bride's solar plexus, sending her into the dining room and rolling over the wooden table. Lunging after her, the woman impaled the table a second after the Bride rolled to saftey, while the Bride forced her 'knerf' up through the table a few centimeters from the woman's face.

Cringing at the sudden appearance of the blade, the woman rolled off the table just before it was kicked over by the Bride, who ripped her knife free. Holding her knife out before her in a protective gesture, the woman backed up into the living room with the Bride following slowly.

"Come on, bitch." the woman snarled at the Bride, who swiped her knife at her, causing a return swing. As they stood in the wreckage of the living room, right in front of the large bay windows that looked out onto the front yard, a small yellow school bus pulled up behind the truck the Bride came in. The doors opened and a little girl stepped down, back pack on and lunch box in hand. The woman facing the Bride looked briefly out the window out of the corner of her eyes before focusing again on the Bride. As the little girl drew closer, walking up the lawn, the woman's eyes grew pleading. With a twitch beneath her eye, the Bride withdrew her knife in a split second and hid it behind her back in the same instant as the woman, just as the front door opened.

"Mommy, I'm home." the little girl called as she turned into the living room.

"My sweet, how was school?" the woman, this little girl's mother, said, a bright smile plastered on, at odds with the blood that covered half her face. Both her and the Bride were breathing heavily. The little girl, who couldn't have been more than five, spared the Bride a glance before turning her attention back toward her mother.

"Mommy, what happened to you and the T.V. room?" the little girl asked. Mommy paused for a second before continuing with her 100 watt smile.

"You know that demon-dog of yours?" she responded. "Well, she got herself into the living room and totally wigged."

"Nina did this?" the little girl said, surveying the damage as she took a step forward.

"Now, baby, you can't come in here." the woman said, holding out the hand that didn't have a knife in it's grasp. "There's broken glass everywhere and you could cut yourself." The little girl stepped back like her mother told her, but then focused her gaze on the bloodied blonde standing next to her mother. The Bride suppressed the urge to shiver. The little girl's eyes were seriously creepy, way older than they should be. The woman noted the visual interaction. "This is an old friend of mommy's that I haven't seen in a long time."

"Hi honey," the Bride panted, still trying to catch her breath after the breif battle. "I'm B****. What's your name?" The little girl remained silent. The smile slipped from the woman's face as she turned her head to look at the Bride.

"Her name is Jasmine."

"Jasmine." The Bride said, testing the name on her tongue. "Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl. How old are you, Jasmine?" Again Jasmine remained silent, just staring at the stranger.

"Jasmine." her mother said in a reproachful tone. "B**** asked you a question."

"I'm four." Jasmine replied in a neutral tone.

"Four years old, huh." the Bride said. "You know, I had a little boy once. He'd be around four now." The woman noticed the look on the Bride's face and quickly moved closer to her daughter, crouching down to look her in the eyes.

"Now, sweetheart, me and mommy's friend got some grown-up talk to talk about." the woman told her daughter. "So I want you to go upstairs and go to your room until I tell you to come down." Jasmine looked slowly from her mother to the Bride, only to have her mom loose her temper and snap her fingers directly in front of her daughter's eyes. "Jasmine! Upstairs, now." The woman said, her 'mommy' voice gone and replaced by one backed by steel. The little girl cast one last glance at the Bride before leaving the room and heading up the main staircase to her bedroom. Both women stayed standing in the wrecked living room and waited until they heard the door close. A breath they both were holding was let out and the woman turned to look at the Bride.

"You want some coffee?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Sure." the Bride answered. The woman relaxed her tight grip on the butcher knife and moved toward the dining room, pushing the front door closed on the way into the kitchen. Moving a bit slower, the Bride resheathed her blade and pushed the door the rest of the way closed.

_This chic Sunnydale homemaker is Theresa Bell, her husband Dr. Lawrence Bell, although how the Groosalug got the title of doctor I'll never be able to figure out. Anyway, when we knew each other five years ago, she was known as Cordelia Chase. Her code name was Delphi, quaint because she was an Oracle for the Higher, or Lower, Powers. Mine: Reaper. Not original, I know, but I still have the highest body count of The Whirlwind, with the exception of Angel. I actually specialized in things considered unkillable or already dead. Probably because I was a Vampire Slayer and all. But anyway, back to my point._

_Five years ago she, along with the other members of The Whirlwind, took part in the murder of nine innocent people in a wedding chapel in Cleaveland, Ohio. The only thing is, she should have killed ten. I'm betting she's already thinking that right now._

"Still take cream and sugar, right?" Cordelia asked as she tossed a rag at the Bride, cleaning up her own wounds with a dish towel.

"Yeah." the Bride responded as she used the rag to bind the slice on the back of her hand. While Cordelia fiddled with the coffee machine, the Bride perched herself on one of the stools of the island in the middle of the kitchen. "So, I gotta ask." the Bride spoke up. "You and Groo." Cordelia turned to look at her. "Jasmine. How?" Referencing the dark skin of her daughter.

"Mystical pregnancy." she explained as she placed the coffee before the Bride on the island. "You know how those things turn out. Never predictable." The Bride nodded in agreement. Cordelia and the Bride both sipped their coffee for a minute on opposite sides of the island before the Sunnydale housewife spoke up. "How did I not see you coming? I'm a seer, remember. You shouldn't have been able to get the drop on me."

"I picked up a few tricks since I woke up." the Bride responded. "But that aside, you must have expected me. After what happened to Willow."

"Yeah, Angel called personally to let me know what was happening." Cordelia confided. "Just wishful thinking on my part, I guess." She pasued, taking a large gulp of her coffee before looked once again at the Bride. "So, I suppose it's a little late for forgivenss, huh?"

"You suppose correctly." the Bride responded coldly, taking another sip of her coffee, giving dead eyes to Cordelia, who's facial features immediatly hardened.

"Listen bitch, I need to know if you're gonna start any more shit around my baby." Cordelia snapped, her hand slamming down on the island, mere inches from the butcher knife she placed down earlier.

"You can relax." the Bride said calmly. "I have no desire to murder you before the eyes of your child."

"Huh." Cordelia said, coming down off her anger. "That's being way more rational than Angel led us to believe you were capable of being."

"Rationality isn't in my lacking collumn." the blonde said back. "Just mercy, compassion and forgiveness."

"I fucked you over." Cordelia said, leaning back against the kitchen sink. "I fucked you over bad. I wish to the Powers I hadn't, but I did and I can't change that." The Bride remained silent, her eyes dead. "But it's been five years and I've changed. I know I don't deserve your mercy or your forgiveness." She walked over and plucked a picture of her daughter from the fridge. "But I beseech you for both on behalf of my daughter." She finished, holding the picture of her daughter before her enemy.

"Bitch." the Bride snapped, watching as Cordelia flinched slightly. "You can stop right there. Just because I have some small moral qualm about killing a mother before the eyes of her child, doesn't mean that parading her around in front of me is going to bring about a change of heart. You and I have unfinished business. And not a Goddamn thing you've done in the past five years, including getting knocked up, is gonna change that."

"Look, you have every right to want to get even-"

"Oh no," the Bride interupted. "To get even, I'd have to tie you down and go upstairs and kill your little girl, and wait for the good Dr. Groo to come home and kill him. Actually, to get completely even, I'd have to do that right in front of you before I killed you. _That _would be even for me."

Cordelia recovered quickly. "So when do we do this?"

"It all depends." the Bride said, sliding from her stool to tower... over the island. Why did she think that was a good idea. Cordelia was taller than her in flats. But the Reaper was good on her feet. "When do you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?"

"How 'bout tonight?"

"Splendid. Where?"

"There's a baseball diamond where I teach Jasmine's little league team." Cordelia offered. "We meet there tonight around two thirty dressed all in black, your hair in a black stocking. We won't be bothered. Now..." she smiled in satisfaction as the Bride flinched when she raised her coffee mug. "I have to prepare Jasmine's cereal."

"It's funny really." the Bride said, backing away from the island and leaning against the far wall. "I know Angel always said that you were one of his best ladies with an edged weapon, but I always thought he meant a katana, not a butcher knife." She took another sip of her coffee. "That whole zen, Buddhist, Japanese weaponry thing was your scene, right?"

"Fuck you, bitch." Cordelia threw back, throwing some sass into her movements. "We all know about your issues with lover boy. So you can take all that jealousy and shove it up your ass."

"Jealousy?" the Bride asked with a condesending snort.

"Yeah, jealousy." the snarky, sassy housewife responded. "Jealousy that I'm better than you with a katana, and jealousy that your boy took such an interest in me. Gotta sting, right?" The humor drained from the Bride's face.

"Weapon of choice? If you wanna stick with your butcher knife." The Bride issued her threat. Cordelia half turned to look at her, smile on her face, her hand in the box of children's cereal.

"Ooh, scary." she said in response to the barely concealed threat. She spun around, hand ripping a pistol out of the box of cereal. "Scarier." She shot three rapid shots, all of which missed due to the Bride's Slayer reflexes. Quick as a viper, the Bride launched her coffee cup at Cordelia, who dodged the incoming ceramic projectile. Just as she was getting her bearings, the Bride's 'knerf' embedded in the middle of Cordelia's chest. A choked gasp forced itself out of her throat as a mixture of drool and blood fell from her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, Cordelia's body slid down the wall and to the floor, where her body gave one last jerk before she drew still entirely. The Bride loomed over her body, a look of cold satisfaction on her face. She reached down and jerked out the knife, before unwrapping the makeshift bandage from her hand and cleaning the blade of the knife before tossing the rag over her corpse.

As she stood up and resheathed her knife, she heard a noise behind her. Whirling around, she saw Jasmine just standing there, staring at the macabre scene before her. The Bride took a deep breath before looking the little girl in the face.

"It wasn't my intention to do this in front of you, but believe me when I say, your mother had it comin'." The Bride moved toward the second entrance that led back to the front door. She turned back and looked at the little girl who still just stood there. "In a couple of years, if you still feel raw about it, come find me. I'll be waiting."

With those last words, the Bride left the kitchen, walked through the damaged dining room and out the front door. Across the yard to her truck she went, wiping at the stray tear that ran down her face. Once she was within her truck again, she picked up a notebook from the passenger seat and opened the page to reaveal a list of names, which read as follows:

**THE DEATH LIST FIVE**

**1. Willow Rosenberg - witch - The Black Hope**

**2. Cordelia Chase - oracle - Delphi**

**3. William Pratt aka Spike - vampire - The Bloody**

**4. Faith Lehane - slayer - the Rogue**

**5. Angelus - vampire - the Scourge**

Taking the black pen that was attatched to the cover, she bypassed the crossed out name of Willow Rosenberg before she crossed out Cordelia's name on the list before closing the book again, already making plans to take out the next mark on her list.

* * *

Author's Note: quick note. In my head, the whole chapter took place in the Summer's residence of Sunnydale, where Buffy lived the entire length of the show.

**Press Me**

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	3. The Lost Slayer

**Title**: Angels Deserve to Die

**Rating**: M for Mature

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Buffy/Angel, Willow, Xander, Dawn, Spike, Faith, everyone (pretty much every Buffy character of any importance will make some sort of appearance)

**Genre**: Action/Adventure, Drama

**Warning**: Character Deaths aplenty, and lots of blood and gore.

**Disclaimer**: everything belongs either to the brilliance of Joss Whedon, or the macabre sense of humor of Quentin Tarantino

**Author Notes**: This chapter was the hardest for me, because there's not a lot of action, but it's important for the plot.

**Summary**: The Bride in and out of her coma.

* * *

**ANGELS DESERVE TO DIE**

**Chapter Two: The Lost Slayer**

Cleaveland, Ohio - Five Years Ago

Wesley Wyndam-Price, Detective with the Cleaveland PD, raced down the highway in his car, little stick on siren flashing as he weaved in and out of traffic. After a few minutes, he reached his destination and pulled into the parking lot of the small chapel, right along side a four police cruisers, an ambulence and a firetruck. There were always way more people than you needed at a homicide scene. Turning off his siren, Det. Wyndam-Price stepped from his unmarked car, straightening his tie before making his way toward the entrance of the chapel. He ducked under the police tape held up by a uniform officer and entered the chapel itself, pausing to observe the carnage before him and the crime scene techs stepping to and fro, trying not to damage any evidence. As he observed the grizzly scene before him, he felt a presence approach him from behind. Turning his head slightly, he saw his partner, Detective Kate Lockley standing there, her face a blank mask. She spared him a quick glance before she cleared her throat.

"Give us the room, please." she called out, making everyone pause and look over at the pair. When they saw who it was, everyone began to pack up their equipment quickly before heading out to 'get some air.' Once everyone was gone, the two detectives began to move through the bloodbath, both pulling on latex crime-scene gloves so they could touch evidence without tampering with it. "So what are we thinking here, English?" Kate asked, as she held one of the female victim's head to the side and wiped away some congealed blood to reveal the bite mark.

"Vampire." Wesley responded softly, leaning in to take a closer look at the bite mark, making note of its viciousness. "At least one."

"One vamire did all this?" Kate asked disbelievingly.

"No." Wesley responded, standing up and moving toward another body, looking around as he did. "This was a group, although a single vampire would be capable of this level of bloodshed. My guess would be some sort of squad. At least four strong, maybe five." He crouched down by another body and lifted up the severed arm in his gloved hands. "They were strong, whoever they were. There are no hack marks." He explained as Kate drew closer. "This person was dismembered by single strokes of a bladed weapon. Judging by the angle, I'd say a sword."

"A vampire could do that." Kate pointed out.

"Yes, but I don't think a group of vampires, even old ones, could resist this much blood just laying around." Wesley reasoned. "This was the work of professionals. The Order of Takara maybe, but they generally work alone and each with a different method. This was organized." He paused by the heart of one of the victims lying a few feet away from its flayed body. "And personal."

"Hell yeah it was personal." Kate pointed out. Wesley looked over at her with a confused look. "Wait 'til you get a load of the alter's centerpiece." With that, Kate led him through the maze of body parts and splintered pews up toward the alter. "Oh, careful of the priest." Wesley stopped where he was about to step and looked down at the body, which seemed to be missing its other half. Looking up, Kate caught his gaze and directed it to the other side of the alter, where the priest's other half lay. Stepping between the two halves, they finally reached the alter where they saw the body of the bride crucified to the cross, her hands pierced with what looked like railroad spikes.

"She got a name?" Wesley asked as he took in the gunshot wound to the side of the head, the various cuts and bruises, and the obvious bulge of pregnancy.

"Name on the marriage certificate says India Cohen." Kate responded, reading off from her little notebook. "We ran it through the database. It's a fake." Wesley bent at the waist to get a closer look at the Bride's face. As he used his gloved fingers to gently touch her face, the Bride spit at him, hitting him right in the eye. In an instant, Kate had her gun in her hand and pointed forward, while Wesley slowly stepped back and pulled a kerchief from his pocket to wipe at his eye.

"Kate, I do believe this woman is still alive."

**-o~O~o-**

The dark haired young woman walked whistling into the hospital, her hands in her leather jacket. She walked straight passed the front desk and toward the elevators, managing to snag one with just a young nurse within. When the elevator doors opened on the next floor, the dark haired young woman stepped out, now dressed in a nurses outfit, her leather jacket folded under her arm. She walked calmly down the hallways toward the coma ward, instantly spotting which room was the Bride's because of the armed policeman standing out front. Slapping on a cheesy smile, she approched the officer. He tensed for a moment before he saw that it was just a young woman.

"Excuse me miss, but you can't be here." the officer said sternly.

"Sure I can." the dark-haired beauty said sweetly. "I'm a nurse, I have to go check on my patient."

"No can do." the officer moved to block her path. "Orders say only the doctor can go in."

"Oh." the girl came to a stop right before him. "Well, in that case." Quicker than the eye could catch, her fist connected with his face, rocking him backward. That same hand then latched onto the back of his neck and flipped him forward, causing him to land heavily on his back. Just as he was recovering, the young woman's foot came down on his neck swiftly and powerfully. A loud crack echoed down the deserted corridor as Faith Lehane snapped the officer's neck, effectively killing him. Smirking in victory, she reached down and grabbed the officer's arm, dragging him toward the door that led into the Bride's room. Frowning when she found it locked, she pushed a little harder, utilizing her Slayer strength and breaking the lock. Pushing the door open, she easily dragged the corpse of the police officer inside and shut the door behind them. Once inside the room, she tossed the body to the side and let it lay there like a piece of discarded trash while she approached the Bride's comatose form.

"A coma, B. Really?" Faith said snarkily as she threw herself into the chair next to the bed, propping her feet up on the bed itself. She pulled out a cigarette from her jacket before tossing it over the Bride's legs. Lighting the cigarette, she took a drage before exhaling slowly, smirking at her rival. "Seriously B, this has been played before. And we both know I did the coma thing way better than you." She pulled her feet from the bed and leaned forward, taking another drag. "Now, I know we never really got along. Probably to be expected. I mean there never were supposed to be two Slayers at the same time." She stood up and walked around the bed, cigarette still in hand. "And yeah, I put the moves on your man. But despite the overwhelming fact that we can't stand each other, I just wanted you to know that it doesn't mean I don't respect you." She continued talking as she walked across the room toward the sink and threw the cigarette in before rooting through the cabinets.

"The truth is, I always envied you a little bit." Faith continued as she pulled out a syringe from one of the drawers, and a small bottle of liquid medication from the cabinet. "The older, more experience Slayer with friends, and family, who everyone loved. I looked up to you, I really did." She removed the cap on the needle and injected it into the bottle of liquid, drawing forth a nice dosage. She walked up to the side of the Slayer's bed and picked up the tube to the IV drip. "You should consider this a luxury. How many times do our kind ever go quietly in our sleep?" She pierced the tube with the needle. "Not very." Just as she was about to push down the plunger, her cellphone rang loudly. Cursing, she pulled the needle out and reached for her jacket, pulling the vibrating little box from one of the pockets.

"Angel." she answered, smiling to herself. She listened as he posed a question to her. "Affirmative."

"_What's her condition_?" Angel asked, his voice deep.

"Comatose."

"_And you are...?"_

"Standing over her, right now." Faith responded, her voice smug and satisfied.

"_That's my girl_." Angel said on his end of the phone, his polishing rag moving swiftly and efficiently over the gleaming length of his sword. "_And now, you're going to abort the mission_."

"WHAT?" Faith screeched from the Bride's hospital room.

"_We owe her more than that."_

"Oh, you don't owe her shit!" Faith continued loudly.

"_Would you keep your voice down_." Angel replied, his voice bemused and vaguely scolding. "_You're in a hospital_."

'You don't owe her shit!" the Rogue Slayer repeated, her voice a harsh whisper.

"_May I say something_?"

"Speak." Faith snapped, phone held tightly in her hand.

"_We beat the hell out of that woman_." Angel pointed out. "_Hell, I put a bullet in the side of her head, but her heart just kept on tickin'_." The sound of a sword slicing the air sounded over the connection. "_And if she ever wakes up again, I'm going to make her life a living nightmare. Worse than the one we just put her in_." The sword was sheathed. "_But what we aren't going to do, is sneak into her room like a filthy Gnarl, and kill her while she's defenceless. Because that, would lower us._"

"I guess." Faith responded in a defeated tone.

"_Do you really need to guess_?" the harsh tones of Angeles crept into his voice.

"No, I don't really need to guess." Faith answered. "I know."

"_Good girl. Now saddle up and come home_."

"Affirmative." Faith said, looking out the hospital window at the storm raging outside. "I'll see you soon. Just be ready. I'm gonna really want to kill something." Angel's chuckle was the last thing she heard before the call ended. Flipping the phone closed, Faith turned and looked at the comatose Slayer, a scowl set on her lovely features. She crossed her arms and looked down at her rival, who still hadn't so much as twitched since she entered the room.

"Bet you thought that was pretty fuckin' funny, didn't you, B?" She walked around the bed toward the side of the room with the door, not once taking her eyes off of the blonde. "Well, I'm sure you heard what he said. About you waking up and all. So, a word of advice, bitch. Don't you ever fuckin' wake up." With those last ominous words, Faith grabbed her jacket and left the room, leaving the door hanging wide open and completely forgetting the body of the police officer in the corner. With a scowl, she pulled out another cigarette and walked down the hall, right past a doctor who was trying desperately to save a patient coughing up large amounts of blood.

"Nurse, help me!" the doctor shouted. "We're losing this man!"

Faith took a drag of her cigarette and blew it out as she kept on walking. "Tough titty, I quit."

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

The Bride lay one one of four identical beds in the room, each supporting a body hooked up to a large group of machines. Aside from the regular, monotone beeping in the background, a faint buzzing could be heard. The buzzing continued as a moquito flew around the room, eventually landing on the Bride's forearm. Piercing her flesh, the tiny insect began to drawn blood from the Slayer.

Suddenly, the Slayer jerked upward violently, a strangled gasp focing its way out of her throat. She was gasping heavily as she tried to regain her thoughts, trying to piece back together her last memory. As she remember Angel and the fight and the bullet, her hand automatically jumped up to the side of her head, where it hit the metal place that covered the bullet wound. She knocked hesitantly on it twice before her memory finally caught up with her. Instinctively she reached down to cover her unborn child, only to discover that she was no longer pregnant. As that information sank in, she let out a heart-wrenching, primal scream over the loss of her child.

"My baby!' she sobbed wildly, her voice raspy with disuse, tears streaming from her eyes. "My precious baby" As she continued to mourn the loss of her son, her Slayer senses picked up the faint traces of whistling from the hallway beyond the room. Flashes of prior events flashed behind her eyes and she panicked, throwing herself back into a comatose position just at the last moment when the door opened and a male nurse walked in, followed closly by a trucker. Both men stood at the foot her bed, looking down at her prone form before the orderly smirked. His name tag read Parker.

"The price is seventy-five dollars a fuck, my friend." he said, half turning his head to look at the trucker. "You gettin' your freak on, or what?"

"Oh yeah." the trucker said, smile breaking out on his face as he pulled his wallet from his jeans, forking over the cash to Nurse Parker. Parker counted out the money before stuffing it in his pocket.

"Okay, now here are the ground rules." Parker explained to the trucker. "No punching. If the nurse comes in the morning and she's got a shiner, the jigs up. Now are we abolutely clear on rule number one?" The trucker nodded in agreement. "Good, now rule number two, no hickeys. Point-in-fact, don't leave any marks of any kind. Now this little cunt's a spitter, it's a motor-reflex thing. But under no circumstances are you to leave any marks. We clear?" The trucker just nodded. "Good. After that, it's all good. Now, her plumbing down there doesn't work anymore, so feel free to come in her all you want. Try not to make a mess and I'll be back in twenty minutes." Parker made to leave and even got out of the room before he came back in. "By the way, sometimes, but not always, this bitch's cooch gets dryer than a bucket of sand. If that's the case then just lube up with this and you're good to go." He tossed a small bottle of lube at the trucker, who caught it before placing it on the bed, smiling at Parker.

Once the door closed behind him, the trucker removed his hat before climbing onto the bed with the Bride, straddling her body. As he fiddled with his belt and zipper, he lowered his face toward hers.

"You're the best lookin' gal I've seen all day." he said, his breath reeking of whiskey.

"Well, duh." the Bride responded. "Have you looked at me. I'm adoraable." The trucker's eyes widened.

A Few Minutes Later.

The Bride shoved the trucker's body off of her and over the side of the bed, where it collapsed bodily, unmoving. The front of her her hospital gown, as well as her neck and chin were covered in blood, which she tried to wipe away as she sat up and slid out of bed, only to fall to the floor, her legs useless. As she tried to will her legs back into working, she heard the tell-tale whistling of Nurse Parker coming back. Acting quickly, she reached over and searched the body of the trucker, finding a pocket knife attatched to his belt. Grabbing it, she quickly dragged herself across the floor toward the exit, hiding to the side of the door so that whoever came in wouldn't immediatly notice her.

"Time's up my friend." Parker called as he pushed the door open. "You have yourself a good time?" He froze the moment he saw the trucker's bloodied body lying motionless and wide-eyed on the ground. As he stood frozen in shock, the Bride, knife in hand, struck, severing the back of Parker's ankle and cutting right through his tendons. With a cry of shock, Parker fell to the floor, only to have the Bride's powerful grip close around his throat and haul him toward the door, placing his neck right at the edge.

"Where's Angel?" she shouted at him, slaming the door on his head before he had time to respond, let alone comprehend the question. "Where's Angel?" she repeated the question and the door slam. "Where's Angel?" Her tone was violence personified as she slammed the door again.

"Lady, please, I don't know who Angel is." Parker tried to reason, his head reeling from the blows.

"Bullshit!" she exclaimed, slamming his head again. Just as she was getting ready to slam his head in the door again, she caught a better look at his face, and bits and pieces of memories began to flit back into her head. One in particular of this Nurse Parker, his pants down around his knees, climbing into her bed, smirk firmly in place. Others followed, of nameless men, or of Parker on one of the other three beds in the room. Her green eyes turned to glass as her rage burned bright and she directed that murderous gaze toward Parker.

"How many men have you had in here?" she asked, her voice barely human in its ferocity. A paniced look appeared on Parker's face and he just opened his mouth to scream when the door slammed harder than before, causing some kind of brain damage judging by the out-of-control twitching of his leg. Growling in frustration, she flops down on the ground with a sigh before forcing herself to sit up and root through Parker's pockets. Eventually, she pulled out a pair of keys that held a large key chain, which read 'PUSSY WAGON.' Looking at it with distaste, teh Bride looked back down at Parker.

"Pervert." she said, shaking her head before moving to take off Parker's scrubs.

-o~O~o-

The Bride wheeled herself out of the elevator and into the parking garage, searching through the various rows of vehicles for Parker's car. As she was searching, she passed a bright yellow truck with writing on the tailgate. Pausing, she looked at the truck before pulling out Parker's keys, matching the PUSSY WAGON from the keys to the back of the truck. Quickly, she wheeled herself over to the driver's side and opened the door. Exhausting the strength she built up between her room and this truck, she hauled herself into the back seat of the truck, straining muscles long not used. Once she was all the way within the cab of the truck, she reached over and pulled the door closed before staring down at her bare feet.

"Wiggle your big toe." the Bride told herself. She continued the staring contest with her feet. "Wiggle your big toe."

_As I sat there in Parker's truck, willing my limbs out of entropy, I saw the faces of the cunts responsible for my current predicament, and the bastard behind it all. Not even twenty minutes out of my coma and I've already killed two people and I'm planning the murder of those I once called friends. The first name on my death list was the easiest to find. But then again, when one manages to the difficult task of becoming the head of one of the world's most powerful demonic organizations, the Circle of the Black Thorn, one doesn't keep it a secret, does one?_

* * *

**PRESS ME**

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	4. Wicked Willow

**Title**: Angels Deserve to Die

**Rating**: M for Mature

**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Buffy/Angel, Willow, Xander, Dawn, Spike, Faith, everyone (pretty much every Buffy character of any importance will make some sort of appearance)

**Genre**: Action/Adventure, Drama

**Warning**: Character Deaths aplenty, and lots of blood and gore. Rape.

**Disclaimer**: everything belongs either to the brilliance of Joss Whedon, or the macabre sense of humor of Quentin Tarantino

**Author Notes**: The backstory on Wicked Willow

**Summary**: The Bride in and out of her coma.

* * *

**ANGELS DESERVE TO DIE**

**Chapter Three: Wicked Willow**

_WIllow Rosenberg was born to Ira and Sheila Rosenberg in San Fransisco, California. Her mother was a renowned psychologist, while her father was in the American military, specifically the Navy. As a result of her father's career, the family moved around the globe quite often, docking for sometimes months at a time in foreign ports around the world. While she was still very young, a prophecy about a strong magical child was brought to the attention of the warlock Cyvus Vail, a powerful and ranking member of the Circle of the Black Thorn. A magical child that would one day have the power to overthrow the demonic sorcerer. Paranoid for his position and his life, the demon did an extensive search around the world to locate this child. After a few months, they came to the conclusion that the child was born to one of three families. The Maclay family in Alabama was butchered, as was a powerful coven of witches in Devon, England. The last suspect on this list, unlikely as they were, were the Rosenbergs. As with the other two suspects, Vail attended the executions personally._

_At the tender age of nine, Willow Rosenberg witnessed the death of her parents._

**-o~O~o-**

Willow hid under the bed in her parents bedroom, watching through what little bit of room she could of the fight that was taking place. Her father, a military man from the cradle, was taking on two of the assailants, despite them obviously being not human. In literal descriptive terms, they were demons. Large, powerful, red skinned. Only thing they were missing were the horns. Despite their ferocious appearance, Ira Rosenberg managed to take one down with a powerful punch, only to be hit in the chest by another, sending him flying across the room. Just as he was getting back to his feet, the only other human in the room (aside from his wife) strode around the demon, his hand outstretched. Ira immediatly found himself pinned to the wall by some unseen force, the man grinning at him lopsided because of a scar the cut across his eye and ended at the corner of his mouth.

"Sir?" the nameless warlock inquired, tilting his head back the slightest bit, while never taking his eyes off of Ira.

"Kill him." croaked the wizened red creature sitting in the dark corner, wheezing slightly as his hand clutched the I.V. drip that supplied him with his various life fluids. The man's grin widened, looking feral and dangerous.

"And the woman?" Ira struggled viciously against the metaphyscal hold at the mention of his wife, but to no avail.

"Have fun." the creature responded. "Oh, and Rack?" The man turned his head fully to look at his master. "Try not to make to much of a mess." With that, the elderly demon struggled to his feet with the help of one of his demons, and was escorted from the house, leaving the Rosenbergs, Rack, and two of the demons. Rack walked toward Sheila, who struggled in the grasp of one of the demons, and stroked a dirty finger down her cheek. He turned back to grin at Ira.

"Don't worry. We're just going to take a little tour." With those ominous words, Rack released his telekinetic hold on Ira, who immediatly rushed forward to save his wife, only to receive a sword to the chest from the other demon. Choking on his own blood, the sword was ripped free and he stumbled to his knees, looking up with tearful eyes just before the sword descended again. Ira's head rolled across the carpet toward the bed, his dead eyes staring his daughter in the face. Little Willow cupped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. Meanwhile, Sheila was screaming, and the sounds of clothing being ripped were also heard. The bed shook as her mother was thrown onto the bed and Willow watched as a pair of jean-clad legs approached the bed, accompanied by the sound of a zipper opening. For the next half an hour, the nine year old girl lay under the bed, crying silently as she listened to the warlock and two demons rape her mother. Once it was all over, the demons and the man dressed to the sound of their jokes while her mother cried helplessly on the bed. The warlock Rack held out his hand and one of the demons placed a sword in his grasp. Leaning over the bed with his scarred smile, he whispered to the defiled woman.

"You taste like strawberries." he whispered before standing up and thrusting the sword down with a shout, impaling Sheila through the chest, the matress and into the floor beneath, a few centimeters from where Willow still lay. The crying of her mother immediatly fell silent as the demons and the man laughed. Willow's eyes filled with tears as she realized the magnitude of what just happened.

"Mommy." she whimpered as blood seeped through the matress and began to drip onto her face. The trio of dark creatures laughed as they exited the house, the warlock pausing for a second to flick his fingers into the room, casting a mystical fire that began to consume everything within it's path.

**-o~O~o-**

_Somehow, Willow escaped the inferno and swore revenge. Luckily for her, Cyvus Vail was a pedophile. At age twelve, she got her revenge._

**-o~O~o-**

Willow Rosenberg straddled the naked red demon in her school girl outfit, his body frail beneath her in her. She could feel his hardness between her legs and she was disgusted. With a flick of her mental powers, the decorative knives that adorned the walls of Vail's private quarters flew from their hooks and embeded themselves in his limbs, effectively crucifying him to the bed. With a yell of pain, the demon sorcerer began to call on his own primal forces, only to be stipped by the iron like grip in the little girl's hand as she found his throat, choking off whatever curse or incantation he was about to utter.

"Look at me, Cyvus Vail." Willow said in her little girl voice, watching the demon thrash as his oxygen ran out. When he didn't do as she commanded, her voice deepened, taking on a dark, demonic air. "_Look at me_!" The demon had no choice but to obey her command, his dull eyes swiveling in his sockets to look at this little girl. Her irises, which had been a hazel brown mere seconds ago were now entirely black and spreading outward to consume her entire eye, the mark of a powerful witch. "Do I look familiar to you? Hmm? Take a closer look at my face. My mouth. The shape of my eyes." She gripped his throat tighter and practically growled. "Do you even remember my parents? The ones you killed?" She released his throat, but kept him pinned by a hand to his chest. To him, if felt as if he were a piece of paper stuck between a magnet and a piece of metal.

"It's funny really." she continued. "Because if you hadn't killed my family, I wouldn't be here to kill you." She laughed humorlessly. "So really, you're the cause of this prophecy." Willow gave a very unlady-like snort. "How does that make you feel? Knowing that you brought about your own demise?" She smirked down at him. The old demon opened his mouth to reply, but she just flicked her free hand, magically sewing his mouth shut. "It was a rhetorical question?" She looked at him directly with her inky black eyes, which darkened more, including the area around her eyes.

"Bored now." she said dispassionately, focusing all her power into the hand she held on his chest and forcing it into the wizened demon. Light pour from his eyes and seeped through the stitches on his mouth, which he tore in his pain-fueled scream. With a final burst of power, light exploded everywhere and the old demon, infamous member of the Circle of the Black Thorn, was dead, his body now a burned out husk.

As she sat on the corpse, she heard footsteps thundering down the hall as the sorcerer's private soldiers came rushing to his defense. When the doors burst open, they saw their master's burnt out husk laying on the soiled bedclothes, no sign of his murderer anywhere. The demon's crept cautiously into the enormous room, weapons at the ready and eyes searching everywhere for whoever was responsible. As they searched, Willow spoke up from behind them, standing in the doorway.

"You boys like magic, don't ya?" The all whirled around, swords and axes at the ready, only to see a little girl, a grown-up smile on her face. "Abracadabra." She whispered and held her hands out. Powerful bolts of dark lightning leapt from her palms and fingertips, striking down and immolating the demons assembled before her. When nothing was left by a room full of smoking bodies, little Willow ended her spell and observed her handiwork. As she observed, the sound of clapping came from down the hall. Turning, Willow saw the man who raped her mother three years ago leaning non-chalantly against the wall, watching her with his good eye.

"So, you're Little Strawberry." he stated more than asked, pushing himself away from the wall to walk toward her. "That was very impressive, what you just did." She said nothing, just let him circle her like a shark. "Ya know, I couuld help you." Rack continued. "I could help you rise to greatness. Nurture your power until you shine like the sun. All you need to do is ask." He stopped directly before her and crouched down so that they were on eye level. "Tell me, Little Strawberry. What is it, that you want?" His face was mere cenimeters from hers, his lips exhaling air into her mouth.

"I'm just gonna take a little tour." came Willow's reply. Rack's eyes, useless and otherwise, widened in fear, just as the little witch's hand latched onto his chest. His world exploded in starbursts of powerful, multicolored light before it all went black.

**-o~O~o-**

_By age twenty, she was one of the top magical practicioners in the world. She even rented herself out as a magical assassin_.

**-o~O~o-**

Quentin Travers, head of the the Watcher's Council, stood at the head of the board meeting table, going over the latest demonic entity that was threatening the world with armageddon. Outside the windows and down four stories, Willow Rosenberg walked past the building, dressed in a black leather outfit, blending in with the London Goths that roamed the city. She looked up at the ediface of the old building on Great Russell Street, headquarters of the Coucil for several centuries. With a flick of her fiery red hair, a disdainful sneer, the powerful dark witch turned and crossed the street away from the building, mere seconds before the explosion. The windows and doors were all blown outward as the flames stretched toward the heavens. Large chunks of stone and rubble fell among the street, causing people to run screaming in the opposite direction, avoiding the flaming debris falling around them. Not once breaking her stride, Willow smirked as she rounded a corner, passing the loud, siren-screeching cars of the local authorities.

**-o~O~o-**

But first thing's first.

"Wiggle your big toe." the Bride commanded herself again. As she watched patiently, and with a great amount of exertion, she finally managed to wiggle the big toe of her right foot ever so slightly. With that tiny bit of success, the Bride smiled. "Okay, hard part's over." she said to herself. "Now lets get these other piggies wiggling."

**THIRTEEN HOURS LATER**

The Bride hoped out of the back seat of her newly aquired truck and slid into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the hospital parking garage, planning the murder of her former friends.

* * *

Do It! You know you want to.

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End file.
